


Penance

by coveredbyroses



Series: 2018 SPNKinkBingo [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/M, Office Sex, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Tumblr: spnkinkbingo, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, sir!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 16:51:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14675357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: You screwed up. Big time. And now your boss is pissed.





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spnkinkbingo.
> 
> Square Filled: Dom/Sub

“Fuck!” you curse, a little too loudly, at the calendar on your monitor. The bold 2:00 p.m reminder seems to taunt you from behind the screen. The meeting was at 2:00. You’d told your boss 2:30. It’s 2:45 now; too late to right your mistake. That means Mr. Smith had walked in to the meeting thirty minutes after it had started. In front of the CEO.

You are so fucked.

This is the third mistake you’ve made in the last three weeks. There’s no way the director of sales and marketing is going to forgive this.

You’ve been working at Sandover’s for nearly three months now - the job had been a _Godsend_ after nearly a year of unemployment. You’d been surviving on ramen and gritty tap water - and had nearly been evicted from your one bedroom apartment. You _can’t_ lose this job.

You’d started out strong; having no real experience as a secretary, you’d still quickly picked up your duties as if you’d done this for years. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep - insomnia can be real bitch. Or maybe you’ve just gotten too confident; many of your daily tasks have become so second nature that you’ve noticed you’ve been overlooking things. Whatever it is, you’ve definitely been off your game recently.

Your heart is pounding in a way that prevents you from concentrating on _anything_. Maybe you should just go ahead and start packing your things.

You close your eyes as you press your fingers to your temples. You just need a little break, Mr. Smith is usually pretty understanding…

Ten minutes later, you make your way back to your desk from the restroom. Your nerves are alight with adrenaline as you reclaim your seat to check your email.

You have one unread message in your inbox. It’s from your boss, and when you click on it, you nearly pass out:

***I need to see you in my office. 5:00 sharp.**

Yep. This is it. Better update your resume.

**********

You’d barely gotten any work done the rest of the day, too preoccupied with your ongoing panic attack. You stare dry-mouthed at the clock on your monitor. It seems to stick on 4:59 forever before finally ticking over.

You rise from your chair, shaking hands smoothing down your black pencil skirt as you mentally brace for the inevitable.

Your knees threaten to buckle from under you as you knock on the metal office door. A deep, muffled voice barks for you to enter and you release a slow, controlled exhale as you let yourself in.

Dean Smith is seated at his desk, face partially hidden behind the black computer monitor. He looks fully invested in whatever he’s reading; his elbow propped in front of the keyboard, chin resting between his thumb and curved index finger. He draws back as you enter, pulling his eyes from the screen to you, gesturing with an open palm for you to take a seat in the first of two leather chairs facing his desk.

Ice prickles through you as you sit; crossing your legs, trying desperately to appear normal, clasping your fingers at the front of your top kneecap.

Mr. Smith looms over you as he rises to his towering height, locking hard eyes on you as he circles around the broad desk to rest against it, folding big arms over his suited chest; mere inches from you.

It really doesn’t help matters that your boss is _intimidatingly_ gorgeous - with sparkling emerald eyes, full lips that look _pillowy_ soft, and a jawline that could cut through stone.

You swallow thickly as his unblinking eyes hold your fear-stricken gaze.

“I’m going to assume you know why I called you in here.” he rumbles, breaking the silence.

“Yes, sir.” Jesus, even your _voice_ is tiny compared to him.

He looks up, squinting at the far wall. “This is your third screw-up in a row,” he informs you.

“I know, sir.”

His jaw ticks as his gaze slips back down to yours. “I had a promotion sitting on my shoulders…that’s probably gone now.” Embarrassed shame prevents any kind of response as your eyes drop, zeroing in on your wringing hands in your lap.

He sighs. “I’m gonna be honest, I usually stick to my three-strike rule, but I’m willing to make an exception…if you can give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fire you right here, right now.” He holds up an index finger for emphasis.

You’ve never been a beggar - hell, you’ve hardly asked for anything in your entire life - but, you know - desperate times and all that.

“Please,” you start, voice thick with desperation. “I know I’ve been sloppy the last couple of weeks, it’s just that I haven’t been sleeping well and-” The dramatic roll of his eyes and turn of his head tells you he doesn’t care.

You swallow, trying again.

“I really need this job, Mr. Smith. I’ll do anything.” Your voice is low, earnest.

His eyes narrow, darkening into a deep jade as his lips part so he can lick at them. “I’d choose my words carefully, you’re playin’ the big leagues now.”

Your eyes widen as you rear back. _What the hell does that mean?_

But then his gaze is slowly raking over you, tongue dragging across the thick cushion of his lower lip. It’s lightening quick, but you don’t miss the rapid, propositioning arch of his brows. You aren’t an idiot - you know what he’s suggesting, and you _should_ be appalled, you _should_ be marching over to HR right now - You could take his job.

But you’re not going to.

You’re not going to because the searing fire in your lower belly is soldering you to the leather chair. You’re not going to because you’ve secretly lusted after the man for nearly three months now. You’re not going to because you want to _owe_ him.

“Yes, sir.” You whisper.

A _dangerous_ smirk spreads across his face at your voluntary submission.

“Stand up,” he orders. You rise on rubbery legs while your boss clears a space on his desk.

_Oh shit. Is this seriously happening?_

He slaps a palm against the glossy surface, “Bend over.”

 _Fuck,_ the simple command has your panties flooding hot. You obey, sliding your hands over the smooth finish as you lean down, ass angled high in the air, turning your head until your ear is pressed firmly against it. Your heart is hammering in your chest at the suspense, and the click of a lock engaging has your breath audibly hitching in your throat.

You fix your eyes on the black bookcase ahead of you as you wait, feeling unbelievably vulnerable; exposed, even though you’re fully dressed. The rug mutes his footsteps and you nearly jump out of your skin at the first brush of his fingers at your back. You can feel the heat wafting through his pressed shirt as he leans over your to murmur in your ear,

“You owe me penance. Do you accept your punishment?” You close your eyes as you gulp, soaking in the deep rumble of his voice.

“I do, sir.” you whimper.

He loops a heavy arm around your middle, heaving you back against his chest where he uses his free hand to pop the first three buttons of your white dress shirt before boldly slipping that hand underneath to squeeze at your bra-covered breasts, one after the other. Your mouth hangs slack in a silent moan as he gropes you, touching you for the first time.

His hands slide to your arms now, gently guiding you back to drape across the desk. You gasp as he tugs your skirt up and around your hips, trailing his fingers across your sheer panties to give each globe of your ass a firm squeeze before dipping his fingers underneath the elastic at your hips, peeling the garment down to stretch around your thighs. Cool air greets your slick lower lips and you bite your lip at the chill.

A hand fits itself back against the curve of your ass as he rumbles behind you,

“How many?”

“Huh?” you breathe.

“How many licks do you deserve?”

_Oh god. Your boss is about to fucking spank you over his desk._

You wet your lips, “As many as you deem appropriate, sir.”

He hums, “How ‘bout fifteen? One for each offense.”

Shit. _Fifteen?_

“Perfect, sir.” Your strangled voice chokes out.

“Count each one. Or I start all over. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

_THWACK!_

_Shit._ That stung. The pain ebbs into a prickle before you realize the second one isn’t coming.

“Shit,” you gasp. “One…” You curl your fingers over the far edge of the desk, bracing yourself for the next whack.

_THWACK!_

You can actually hear the hit cracking off the walls.

“Two-”

_THWACK!_

Shit, the stinging blows are hitting in the exact same spot, pulling moisture from your welded eyes.

He switches cheeks at the fifth smack, and you almost sigh in relief.

“Fifteen!” you’re nearly sobbing now, at the burning pleasure.

_THWACK!_

_What the hell?_

“That’s for your work attire. Shoulda been dealt with a long time ago.” He runs a hand over the throbbing, heated flesh. “Did ya really think I wasn’t gonna notice you prancin’ around the office in these tight little skirts? That I wasn’t gonna do anything about it?”

_Fucking. Shit,_

“I’m sorry, sir.” You pant.

Your ass burns like hellfire, but twisted as you are, it has wetness slicking up your thighs. Before the shame has a chance to settle in, a finger is trailing through the trickling mess.

“I’ll be damned…” he mutters to himself. A big hand presses against the center of your back just as two thick fingers glide over your soaked slit.

“You’re a slut for punishment aren’t ya?”

“Mmmhmm,” you whine, the sound raising in pitch as those same fingers find your entrance, stroking through the wetness gathered there. There’s a duet of groans as he slowly inches the digits into your heat, fitting the heel of his palm against the lower crease of your ass.

“Oh, _fuck…”_ you gasp.

You’re white knuckling the edge of the desk at the _incredible_ sensation of your superior’s fingers inside you. You work your feet apart, the elastic of your panties digging into your thighs as you spread your legs, allowing him to push in deeper.

He pumps slowly and steadily, exploring your hidden depths. You screw your eyes shut as he works you, panting hot bursts of air to fog against the lacquered desktop.

He’s spreading his fingers on every plunge now, scissoring you open, the slick sucking sound fusing with your building moans.

Your cunt still thrums with the feel of him when he finally withdraws his fingers, leaving you open and aching for more.

“Hands,” he suddenly says, and it takes your buzzing mind a moment to process the word, but then you’re obediently pulling your arms to cross at the small of of your back. There’s a distinct rusting sound, and then cool silk encircles your wrists and tightens - fuck; he’s binding you, _restraining_ with his tie.

Your back is stiff, strained from holding your body in this position for so long, but fuck, your cunt is positively _fluttering_ with excitement.

The sound of a zipper cuts through the brief silence and your stomach lurches, liquid fire hurtling through you at the sound.

You feel the warm, hard weight of his cock fall against your ass before slipping down the the crease to nudge at your opening. You jolt a little as fingers swipe once up your folds, in kind of a scooping motion. You’re left puzzled and bereft as his hand leaves you, but then a repetitive slicking sound fills in the blanks; he’s lubing himself up with your arousal.

Hard knees press into the backs of yours as he shortens his height to align himself with your opening, a hand gripping you hard at the waist.The head of his cock teasingly rubs up and down the mouth of your pussy - once, twice, and then he’s steadily sinking into you, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt. He stills once he’s fully sheathed, leaning forward to brace his forearms at your shoulders.

He drags back to the apex before _slamming_ back in, the force of the thrust shoving your body forward over the desk. He repeats the motion, increasing speed and strength with every advance and retreat until his hips are smacking loud against your ass.

Your pants turn to whimpers, then whimpers into sharp grunts as he quickens his pace, repeatedly spearing into you. He’s plunging in deep, hitting spots you didn’t even know you _had_.

You can’t see him, but fresh, tingling arousal floods your belly as your mind fills with the image of your boss; bent over you, dress pants pooled around his thighs as he roughly fucks into you.

Your sweaty cheek slips back and forth across the desk as he absolutely _pummels_ you, grunting so deep he may as well be growling into your ear,

“Fuck, that’s it - take it, baby, take it-”

“ _Shit-shit-shit-Dean-shit!”_ It's too late by the time you realize your mistake.

He stills, reaching down to cup your throat, arching it back. “What did you call me?” His breath is hot against your skin.

“Fuck,” you gasp, “I’m sorry, sir - I didn’t mean-”

Your cheek thumps back against the desk as he releases you. He pulls out -

And you let out a yelp as the underside of three fingers _crack_ against the lips of your pussy, sending delicious pain pulsing up your cunt before he immediately pushes back into you.

A sob escapes you as begins he begins a merciless, _breakneck_ pace.

He’s fucking you so _perfectly_ that you’re keening high in your throat; your own voice unrecognizable to you. And for a fleeting moment, you think about the few people left milling around the office. _God, what if they can hear you?_

But then a hand is tangling itself in your hair - jerking; arching your angled neck and painfully bowing your back as he brutally pistons in and out of you.

“Oh-fuck…ah - oh my _gooooddd!”_

Your wails barely cover the wet smack of skin on skin as he pounds into you. You’ve _never_ been fucked so good; so thoroughly - and you already feel the pinging disappointment in your chest at the realization that you probably never will be again.

Your neglected clit throbs almost painfully - he hasn’t touched it once. _Must be part of the punishment_ , you think - but even still, your belly continues to tighten, your walls suctioning around him. You’re split wide over his rigid thickness and it feels like a flesh-covered steel rod is repeatedly punching into you.

“You wanna come?” he pants, releasing you to drop back against the desk, warm drops of sweat splattering over the back of your thin shirt. “Huh? I know ya do - I can fuckin’ feel it.”

“Pleee-ee-eease!” You squeal in rhythm with his savage thrusts.

“Earn it, baby.”

You’re not sure what he means by that, but you go silent, taking everything he’s giving you, your insides liquifying with each brutal snap of his hips.

He’s getting close now; you can feel his hips faltering, his moans growing deeper and longer.

“You better come now,” he chokes. “While you still have the chance.”

You’re close to exploding; right at the edge, but you need something, just a little -

“Please! Please sir, - I n-need-”

His fingers fly to your clit, rubbing so fast - so _hard_ as he continues to hammer into you-

And then you’re _shrieking_ as your body seizes, squeezing him hard as you come. He fucks you through your orgasm, prolonging the icy-hot waves of pleasure.

“Oh fuck…oh fuck-fuck-fuck- _FUCK!”_ He all but roars as he pulls out. Warm wetness hits your ass to slowly trickle over the globes in thick trails.

You feel so heavy as you come down - so _filthy,_ literally covered in sweat and come.

You’re so limp that you hardly notice when the tie loosens from around your wrists. You let your dead arms smack against the desk in front of you, palms down, too weak to pull yourself up just yet.

Finally, you push yourself up to your feet, finding your boss standing across the desk; face flushed and glistening, wrinkled tie draped around the collar of his dress shirt as he adjusts his clothing. He briefly meets your eyes before tossing you a tissue.

You smile shyly as you clean yourself, bending down to tug your panties back up to their rightful place, and smoothing down your now-wrinkled skirt.

“So…what are you doing after work?” he asks you, shrugging on his black suit jacket.

You gape at him, wide-eyed.

_Is he fucking serious? Is your boss asking you out?_

_**After** fucking the shit out of you?_

_…_

_Whatthfuck-whatthefuck-whatthefuck-_

You take a breath to mask your shattered nerves. “You tell me, sir. You’re the boss.”

He flashes gleaming white teeth at you.

As you follow him out the door, you realize for the first time since this all started, just how _very_ sore you are. You aren’t sure if you’re going to be able to walk _or_ sit tomorrow.

Maybe Mr. Smith will give you the day off. He’s always been pretty understanding.


End file.
